


Expect the Unexpected (and then change your world views)

by Shadowed_Voices



Series: Oneshots of Dubious Quality [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowed_Voices/pseuds/Shadowed_Voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are plenty of things Sheriff Stilinski expects when he comes home in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expect the Unexpected (and then change your world views)

There are plenty of things Sheriff Stilinski expects when he comes home in the middle of the night. Those things include, but are not limited to:

An empty house  
Stiles asleep in his room  
Stiles playing video games with a pack of Mountain Dew on the floor  
Stiles and Scott playing video games with the remains of a pizza on the floor  
Stiles asleep sprawled across several old (ancient) books on mythology.

There are things that the sheriff does not expect but is somewhat resigned to finding anyway.

A pile of dead fish on the kitchen floor (Don’t Ask)  
Blood on the walls  
Actually catching Stiles sneaking out  
Stiles having a girlfriend over (Stiles having a girlfriend)  
A llama

This? This is none of those things. This is Lydia Martin draped sideways over an armchair, Jackson Whittemore’s head pillowed in her side. They both are covered in filth and blood, and smell strongly of burnt flesh, but are casually (exhaustedly) sharing a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. This is Danny Mahealani collapsed over a laptop the sheriff is fairly certain he is not allowed to have. This is Scott, Erica Reyes, and Boyd (Vernon?) curled into a ball of tangled limbs and bodies, blinking tiredly up at him. They are all in various states of post-shower dryness; Scott is mostly there and Erica’s hair is still dripping, wrapped in a towel. None of them are wearing their own clothes, although is doesn’t appear that Boyd is wearing Stiles’ clothes either. This is the shower running upstairs and downstairs, and the washing machine running in the laundry room. This is Cinderella playing on the TV.

This is Derek Hale in his kitchen with Stiles, both post-shower damp and covered in a thin layer of flour. There appears to be some sort of argument going on when he steps within view of the door. It is silent and involves a lot of arm waving and facial (eyebrow) expressions. At one point Derek snarls, teeth bared in an oddly animalistic display of aggression to one to Stiles’ more pointed swipe of a wooded spoon. In response, Stiles straightens his shoulders, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. He is well within Derek’s personal space when the stick end of the spoon pokes the older man several times in the chest. Hard. They hold the pose for a moment before Derek seems to deflate, snatching the spoon and aggressively stirring a bowl full of batter. (Cake. Chocolate.)

“Mommy and Daddy are fighting again?” 

The sheriff startles at the quiet voice and sudden heat against his shoulder. When he twists his head to look behind him he gets a very up close look at Isaac Lahey puppy dog eyes. The kid is leaning on him (and what is it with theses kids and a lack of personal space?), taking shallow breaths like his ribs hurt, but he’s clean and smell of soap. Then it registers what the kid said.

Mommy and Daddy? He mouths. Isaac smiles sheepishly, waving behind them at someone in the living room.

“Shower’s open, Lydia,” he says instead of answering.

There is a groaning from somewhere, likely the armchair. “Thanks,” a feminine voice croaks. “Don’t eat all my cookies.”

“Go sit down before you fall down, pup,” Stiles says suddenly. He opens the oven door, pulling out something that smells heavenly. “You’re still recovering.”

“Stiles!” 

“Go.” That was Derek, sullen from where he is pouring cake batter into pans. Isaac huffs, but goes, managing to worm his way into the pile of clean bodies and blankets in front of the couch. The others all make room easily enough. Jackson curls around the plate of cookies, poking at one morosely.

“Jacks! You’re up!” Was that Alison? 

“So. Dad. Werewolves.”

No. He can safely say this was never in the realm of possibilities.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. This is really choppy. Especially the ending. But it was an idea and I needed to write it down.


End file.
